


Silent Princess

by AvinRyd



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute Zelda, Sign Language, and i'm so sorry for this title, the secret ending fucks this over but whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 04:53:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12810030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvinRyd/pseuds/AvinRyd
Summary: He’s studying, studying me. “What’s wrong?”“Twenty-three.” He says eventually, that quizzical frown only deepening. An enigmatical answer.“I’m sorry?”He sighs. Blue floods my vision as he truly meets my gaze once again. “The number of words you’ve said, to anyone, in the past two weeks since we left Kakariko. Twenty-three."--Because the Silent Princess is a rare flower, indeed.





	Silent Princess

I’ve always thought evenings in the wilds of Hyrule are more beautiful than words could ever express, and tonight is no different. To attempt to describe… Oh, where to begin? Though the sun has not yet fallen, the grotto in which we’ve made camp is cooling quickly. What’s left of the day’s light catches on Akkala’s rough cliffs and bluffs all around, highlighting them in pinks and golds. The wind is chill on my skin, but the fire before me is warmth and light; to my right is another such light. Firelight picks out strands of gold in Link’s tawny hair as he’s bent over something in his lap. I can see a glint of steel. Peeling apples for dinner, it seems. His focus is admirable; I myself can’t seem to keep my mind on any one thing for more than a few minutes.

The pastels of sunset have drained from the sky, leaving dregs of grey in their wake. Slowly, slowly, the dark of night rolls in with it’s sprinkling of stars. The campfire pops and spits to send it’s sparks up to join those silver gleams. I’m drifting. With every star that appears, an instance of a century passes my mind. Connected to every breath of life, every blade of grass, I remember. The veil of Hylia’s mantle lifts and I hear a child brought, screaming, into the world. I feel moss creep over ruined towns. I smell the earth of fresh-tilled fields and fresh-dug graves. I see-

“Zelda?”

I see champion-blue eyes, far closer than expected. Reality snaps back around me, juttering and spinning, and I have to anchor my sight on Link’s face, my perception of the warmth of him suddenly inches away. I don’t move, can’t move with the world still slotting back into place.

“Hmm?” I manage in reply. His mouth twists and his brows draw together in an expression I know well. He’s studying, studying  _ me _ . “What’s wrong?”

“Twenty-three.” He says eventually, that quizzical frown only deepening. An enigmatical answer.

“I’m sorry?”

He sighs. Blue floods my vision as he truly meets my gaze once again. “The number of words you’ve said, to  _ anyone _ , in the past two weeks since we left Kakariko. Twenty-three. That’s including your formalities with the Zora royal family. Are you-” His voice seems to balk, rebellious, but he presses on, “Forgive me, princess, but I’m concerned. I’ve never known you to be so...quiet.” 

Replies build up in my throat: ‘Where do you get off picking at  _ my _ silence, what with your own reticence with words?’(Even if he’s been more talkative than I’ve ever heard since the Calamity’s defeat.) ‘You haven’t known me for a century.’ ‘You’ve been counting?’ ‘This isn’t a matter of my safety, why should you be concerned?’ They stack and press, unable to escape, building pressure in my throat  _ and they won’t leave _ .

“I- That is-” I stammer. I’m choking on words, on thoughts, and it  _ hurts _ . Cool air rushes into my lungs and I try to focus on it, on anything but the powerless feelings within and the dark encroaching on my vision from without. 

Breath, still such a novel sensation after a century of immaterial existence. Its noise, its gentle force, the tidal push and pull, they press back the dark and the fear. Head cleared, if only a little, I gather my thoughts. Link is right, of course. Since my ill-considered question of his memories, I haven’t spoken more than a few words to my knight. That’s not to say we don’t communicate; catching of eyes, brushes of touch, a nod or facial expression in response to whatever he’s said, all have kept us together these few weeks of travel and survey. I know my silence is out of character, truly I do. It’s just- The words won’t come. Even now, I reach for them and they slip away. Perhaps if I try to work through this aloud? If not reassurance, it will give him context for my silence.

“Link,” I start, hearing my voice for what it now is: rusty and strained from disuse. “I did not mean to alarm you. The fact of the matter is I haven’t had a spoken conversation with anyone for nearly a century. My years of containing the Calamity- Hylia and I existed together in a realm of thought and possibility. My body in stasis, my mind strung together with Her’s, there was little need to speak with words.

“Early on, I couldn’t bear it, having my unfiltered thoughts visible to anyone, even a Goddess. I spoke, I screamed, I  _ raged _ , and the Calamity...he drank it in. And once I’d run myself ragged, my words were turned back upon me and I couldn’t- I had to stop. For years, decades, I cloaked myself in Hylia’s protection where he could not reach me with my own vitriol. I spoke only as a distraction after that. The Calamity would set his sights on a gathering of life, on your resting place, on the Champions yet resting in their patience, and I would gather his attention back with a witty jab or affected cry of despair. Towards the end, I confess, it wasn’t so affected…

“His wrath was- Link, I can’t even describe it. Even though he’s gone, I can feel it. He’s right there, behind me around me above me, and if I keep talking he’ll be-” My breath is coming in shallow; I feel my eyes widening as black creeps into my view of clenched hands upon my knees. “He’ll- I can’t, I  _ can’t- _ ”

That horrible pressure is building once again, air barely whistling past the huge lump in my throat, but I have to continue. He needs to understand, needs to  _ know _ . The world is spinning around me, chaos and noise again, just like the castle but there’s no golden mantle to wrap myself in this time. My lips stammer but can no longer form the words. Ice floods the pit of my stomach, spreads, and I shiver violently. It’s so cold and I’m still a failure and-

The softest of touches stills my runaway mouth. A firm grasp encircles my wrist in warmth. Drowning out the static is a low rumble of sound in my ears, comforting and husky and unmistakably Link. His touch, voice, the scent of him so near mixed with the campfire smoke; even my fear-addled mind can’t drown them out. I latch onto the reprieve desperately, even as I attempt once more to speak in thanks.

“Hush, shhhh,” Link shushes me, his finger on my lips pressing just the slightest bit, “I’m sorry. You’re alright, you can stop.”

He continues in that vein and it all blends together in a protective cocoon about me. Safe, safe, safe. My breathing slows, deepens; the tightness around my windpipe eases; the darkness I see is just the black behind my eyelids and my mind begins to settle. The finger against my lips moves, tracing a sparkling path of sensation up the line of my jaw and his hand sinks into my hair, cupped at the base of my skull. He leans in until our noses brush, foreheads pressed together, and I open my eyes. 

He is very close, so close his eyelashes almost brush my cheeks when he blinks. I have long envied those lashes, contributing to that understated beauty he has that I couldn't match if I tried. In my secret romantic imaginings before the Calamity, this was the point where Link would tilt his head just slightly and catch my lips in a kiss. Not now, though. Now he is just close, sharing space as easily as the breaths we share. Our gazes catch and hold for a long moment. When he finally speaks it’s in that same soft, low tone, but with the suggestion of steel behind it. 

“Zelda,” he says, “thank you for telling me, but I never, ever want you to feel like you have to speak when the words won’t come. Not to me. I get it, I  _ understand _ . Maybe not about the Calamity, but the fear of having your words stolen away to hurt you later? Every word of mine is a double-edged sword and I trust very few to have my back so armed.”

The grip about my wrist slackens as his hand moves to clasp my own, small and soft compared to his swordsman’s grip. He brings our twined hands up to press my knuckles to his lips in a gesture that has my breath catching hard for an entirely different reason than before, and as I try to contain my gasp he murmurs into my skin,

“However you need to talk, I’ll find a way to listen,” and he breaks away just enough to bring his mouth from our hands to my brow, his kiss a firm pressure as he holds me close and I try not to cry. I fail in that endeavor, but it feels less miserable than most failures as hot tears spill across my face.

We stay that way for what could be another hundred years. Just as the last age, time passes in a blur of feeling; though this time it is wonder, not terror. The Akkalan night grows colder around us and I shiver, unintentionally breaking the spell. Link barely moves when he reaches for the hood lying beside me, but it’s far enough that my hand tightens spasmodically around his. He grins at that and in the firelight it’s hard to tell, but I think I see his cheeks pink, just a little. In a deft movement, he drapes the hood about my shoulders with one hand, hearth-spun Hylian cloth chasing away the chill.  

I bring up my free hand to scrub the last of the tears from my face, but he catches it mid-way. I feel a curious noise leave me, but he says nothing, just takes both of my hands and begins to move them, place them in a manner that’s somewhat familiar. It’s- yes, it’s the hand-signs I often saw him use when conversing with Urbosa and Mipha back in our old lives. His eyes come up to meet mine, green to blue.

“Sometimes this is easier.” He says, simply.

And, as I find through the next hour before we curl up to sleep, (in the same bedroll tonight,) it is.

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is wondering, this fic takes place by the waterfall south of Uluria Grotto, at the foot of Tal Tal Peak.
> 
> And yes, I know Zelda is a complete chatterbox like normal in the secret ending. I don't care~
> 
> Find me on tumblr @themodethecitythesoul for more shenanigans!


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